The 7th Inning Stretch

A good date is a really wonderful thing. Whether you are in high school, or college or somewhere out in the world, a good date is magical.

There is a time in a good first date when you know. When the conversation has become easy and you start to feel all warm and gooey inside and you want to be alone with the other person. Want to hold his or her hand. Want to feel that arm around your shoulder. And you want to leave wherever you are so you can be free to do that.

I had no such experience with Casey. And in fact was a little panic stricken that dinner was coming to an end and there were hours left in the evening.

His son texted him. He flipped open his phone. I secretly crossed my fingers hoping that someone was experiencing some kind of heinous life threatening (or at least disfiguring)emergency and he had to rush home to head off a tragedy in the making.

No such luck. It was just a baseball game update. Our team was in the heat of playoff battle.

There is nothing more unsexy than a sporting event, and Casey and I are both fans, so I used the double edged sword to try to direct the rest of the date in a way I could stand.

"Do you want to watch the rest of the game somewhere? If we hurry we can catch the last 2 or 3 innings."

Casey makes some inane comment about how many oversized TVs he has...his daughter always gets "stuck watching Hannah Montana on the little one" which is 72 inches. Like I care. My TV as I've said, is little more than something else to dust.

Concerned that he thought I was suggesting that we watch it in my living room, which I was not, I suggest a local pub.

And then to throw a little more water on the idea, I suggest that his brother might want to meet us there.

"Geez, I haven't seen Jeff in a dog's life! I can't believe he's lived right here all this time and
I haven't bumped into him. Give him a call! See if he can join us!"

I could not read Casey's genuine reaction to that suggestion, but he agreed to it on the surface. Excused himself to use the men's room, call his kids and call Jeff. He emerged from the men's room, popping a few more mini Altoids, and telling me that Jeff is on a date miles away and would not be joining us. Maybe next time.

Next time? Sorry, Jeff. We'll just have to go one being strangers.